


not my friend

by raininginthestreets



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Courting Rituals, Cultural Differences, Dorian Pavus and his big mouth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), In-game Dialogue, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, and dorian tells him to ask quizzy, from that one piece of dialogue where cole asks dorian, himbo moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raininginthestreets/pseuds/raininginthestreets
Summary: "He’s not my friend. He’s… Never mind what he is," Dorian says, ignoring the look Mahanon shoots him. Fuck.Where Mahanon doubts his relationship with Dorian. In a big way. And the dumbass mage makes it worse. But then it gets better. Thanks, Cole.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 113
Collections: pavellan recs





	not my friend

**Author's Note:**

> I finished DA:I. Again. And to distract myself from writing a post-tresspasser fic, this is what I did. Its also the first fic I've probably posted as a decent time. Huh. Well, enjoy.

_ He’s not my friend. He’s… Never mind what he is.  _

Lavellan lied. Even while standing there as Dorian made clear his stance on their relationship, he couldn’t help but make it right.

_ I’m not going to help you. _

Didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed.

And maybe a little hurt. 

_ Fenedhis _ , of course they weren’t friends. They weren’t… Well, they weren’t much of anything. Except, of course, Lavellan had thought them at least friends, given the fact that they had travelled through time, listening to Dorian about his father, defending him against Mother Giselle. They had kissed! He had thought it meant the same to Dorian as it did to him. Like a newly-borne, stumbling halla.

Lavellan was writing to Leliana about the situation on the ship back to Skyhold when everything made sense.

“Dorian, what’s a slave?”

Mahanon and Cassandra shared a look before turning to Cole and Dorian.

“ _ Festus bei umo canavarum _ ,” Dorian muttered the Tevene into the hand that dragged down his face.

“But you said I could ask questions.” 

Oh, Cole. Poor, sweet, assassin Cole.

“That’s true. Just...go ask the Inquisitor this one.”

Mahanon inhaled sharply as reality made itself known. The fear quickly made the blood flee from his face, anger heating the rest of his body.

He stood, jaw clenched, and stiffly made his way past the pair. “Fen’harel ver na,” he spat before climbing the stairs to the deck, considerably less shocked than the rest by the acid in his voice.

No, they were not friends. For all that Dorian claimed to be better than his countrymen, he didn’t see a person when he looked at him. He was an elf, first and foremost.

Most slaves in the Imperium were. 

Who would be friends with property? 

Have the elf explain how most of his people in Tevinter weren’t  _ people _ but objects. Tools to be used and abused and drained of blood as the shem saw fit. Not like he could be affected, of course, because his ears were pointed.

Lavellan climbed the mainmast to the crow’s nest, quietly seething the entire way up. Once he reached the nest, however, most of the anger faded. There was a sadness, instead, that felt too close to mourning for comfort. 

Odd, he supposed, that the one who couldn’t see him as a person was the one that reminded him the most that he was just a man.

  
  


In the week that it took to get back to Skyhold, Mahanon barely spoke more than three words at a time and never directly towards Dorian.

Not that Dorian truly attempted conversation with him. 

Mahanon, when they did arrive at Skyhold, went straight to his quarters. Dorian’s - no,  _ Pavus _ \- had arrived. That was efficient, even for Leliana. 

He barely spared it a glance as he climbed the ladder up to the loft. He had a desk, yes, but he preferred the security the loft gave him. It meant he was able to catch up on the paperwork he had missed while he was gone without fear of being interrupted. 

No one ever looked up.

It was fact that he abused that night. He made his way onto the roof of the main hall, crossing over to the rotunda, towards the Tevinter’s room. He was in and out in less than five minutes and made his way to the stables. He gently dropped onto the roof of the barn, spending the rest of the night watching Skyhold sleep.

* * *

As opposed to what Cassandra thought, Dorian knew that he fucked up. It wasn’t right of him to send Cole to the Inquisitor to ask about the enslavement of his people. Just because it wasn’t right, however, didn’t mean that it didn’t happen. 

He spent the trip back to Skyhold fretting over how to make it right when the man barely looked at him. He had thought, perhaps, once back at Skyhold Mahanon would calm enough that he would be allowed to speak to him.

Not that things were ever so easy.

The Inquisitor had left the group as soon as they reached the gate, disappearing off to who knew where and wasn’t seen until the next morning. Leaving. 

And so as Dorian woke up to fortress down a dwarf, qunari, and dreamer, the sickening feeling of failure only increased when he spotted a familiar amulet in his quarters.

He was an absolute ass.

Would this, whatever it was between them, last? It had seemed as if Mahanon had the same growing affections that Dorian would never admit to. There was a small kernel of hope that had lodged itself in his chest that this could be the  _ more _ that he had always wanted. 

He felt it shrivel and die as he laid his eyes on his birthright. Left in his room, while he was asleep, in the middle of the night. With no note. After a week of silence. 

Fuck.   
  


Dorian found himself avoiding most of the Inner Circle, mainly Cole and Cassandra, for the next three weeks. He took it upon himself to be as useful as possible without being noticed, determined to prove (mostly to himself) that he could still help. That he wasn’t always a failure.

He made sure that the Inquisitor’s clothes and bedding would be clean and fresh by the time he would arrive, had the report about Corypheus’s name ready, and assisted Dagna in her own research. 

During the night, while wandering Skyhold in an attempt to calm down before sleeping, he discovered another library.

The books were infinitely better than the ones in the rotunda, much less Chantry and more history sprinkled with magical research. It was glorious. 

It's where Cole found him three days after the discovery, the Inquisitor two days from Skyhold, cleaning and organizing the best that he could.

“Wishing, wanting and waiting but wounded.”

“Hello, Cole.”

“Not good enough, never enough, broken. Messes and dirt, pieces of pottery. Poor and misplaced. Lacking. Why aren’t you enough, Dorian?”

Dorian sighed before setting down the book in his hands. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Cole.”

The spirit fidgeted and continued. “Not the perfect son or perfect friend. Can’t have the perfect lover because you aren’t one. You know that perfect doesn’t exist so why do you care?”

“I think you know why, Cole. I’ve made a mess of things. Royally, I might add.”

“Yes,” Cole nodded, “but you’re trying to make it better. You want to fix the hurt, like me. Not friends, not more, not a person. Pointless and pointed. He couldn’t care, not for me, not with my ears. He wants to stop hurting, too.”

“I’m assuming that was the Inquisitor, yes? I believe he would like to keep his thoughts to himself.”

“I’m sorry, Dorian. I can’t help his hurt. Only you can.”

The spirit vanished, almost as if he was never there, and Dorian sagged against the desk. “Kaffas.” 

He attempted to put the encounter out of his head before continuing in his cleaning. It was important to him that it was done for Mahanon when he got back from his travels. It was another thing to get him down here, but Dorian already had an idea or two that might work.

* * *

Mahanon returned to Skyhold in a much better state of mind than when he left, mind made up on how to deal with Dor- Lord Pavus.

Reverting back to titles was step one. Step two was… Well. He’d figure out step two when the moment called for it.

It was on his way to his quarters that he got stopped by Josephine, letting him know that another library had been discovered below the fortress and would he please let her know what he decided to do with it?

“I’ll look at it after I’ve taken a bath, Josie, promise,” he told her. And it was the truth! He happened to like books and if there was any way he could get first pick in reading any of the discovered books, he planned on getting it.

Hopefully she had kept Pavus away from it while he was gone.

It's with the promise of new stories and knowledge that Mahanon washed away weeks of travel and walked down the stairs to the library. He wasn’t worried about Pavus, mulling over what could have been.  _ If only _ -

The thought was cut off when walking into the library he almost collided with D -  _ Pavus _ .

“Lord Pavus.” He sounded calm, not at all like it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out to the man in front of him. Step one was completed: titles only. Time to see what step two was.

“Apologies, Inquisitor. I was merely finishing up here. There are several good finds down here and most of them in decent condition. Wards, I believe, kept most of the books intact.” 

He looked nervous, hands skimming the edges of sleeves and eyes avoiding his face.

“I doubt this was the condition it was found in. Who cleaned it?” 

It was easy. Almost too easy. Just forget that the past month had happened: no birthright, no kissing, no fathers, no avoidance. 

“I did. Organized it, too, like the library upstairs.”

Mahanon glanced at Pavus before examining the shelves and the floors. He had done a marvelous job, it seemed. “Nicely done,” he took a steadying breath before looking at the mage again. “Carry on, then. I won’t keep you from your work.” 

He turns then, back towards the door. He can come back later with candles. When there’s no altus and less hurt weighing his chest down.

A quiet “Mahanon..” came from behind him.

“No.” He didn’t turn, didn’t look at the man at his back, anger hardening his voice. “You don’t get to call me that. We aren’t friends, remember?”

And if he fumed at his heart for being so easily broken, for trusting so quickly, for wanting to turn around and apologize for acting like a child? No one needed to know.

* * *

Shit shit shitshitshit. This was more than just his comment about slaves, wasn’t it? Not that it helped, but this started because of his  _ fucking _ amulet. 

They were friends, surely, before this happened. And then it started to become what he had hoped would be more and then… then he wanted something else along with that friendship.

Kaffas. Him and his stupid tongue.

“An animal, a pet, a slave. Only an elf. Only ever an elf. Hurting and hateful.”

“Cole.”

“Yes?”

“Can I fix it?”

“Yes. But it won’t be perfect. Words and wills, too much unspoken. Try to show him, Dorian. Heal the hurt.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

He made a mistake. Now he needed to fix it. It would take more than a cleaned library and forced conversation, he was sure. He had an idea, though.

“Loranil!” Dorian called out to the Dalish elf that the Inquisitor had recruited not too long ago. 

Loranil looked away from the sparring ring to the approaching mage with slight apprehension. “Dorian. Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping you could. Do you mind?” He jerked his head toward the edge of the upper courtyard, devoid of people. The elf followed him over and Dorian took a fortifying breath before continuing. “I was wondering if you would be able to tell me about how the Dalish court.”

The elf blinked, eyes wide, before answering. “Gifts. Like rings or earrings - especially made of ironbark. To start with, anyway. Typically, to show the other that you’re serious, you’ve got to prove your worth. Usually with a hunt.” Loranil furrowed his brows. “Do I want to know why you need to know this?”

“Only if you won’t stick an arrow through my head.” Dorian wasn’t sure how the Dalish viewed relations between men, let alone other species. Should have started with that.

Thankfully, Loranil just grinned, face brightening. “I think you’d be a good match, Dorian. If you need help crafting or supplies or even with the hunt, let me know, will you? I owe the Inquisitor and you for convincing the Keeper to let me join.”

The offer of aid was not unwelcome, Dorian was surprised to find. To his continued shock, he even made use of it. The next several days found Dorian sitting with not only Loranil but also Blackwall, learning how to carve rings and earrings. It was tedious and time consuming and took more effort than Dorian had ever spent on a man, but by the fifth day, he had a ring acceptable enough to present to the Inquisitor.

Dorian caught the Inquisitor in Josephine’s office, mostly confident that he wouldn’t be ignored in front of the ambassador’s office. 

“Inquisitor, Lady Montilyet,” the mage greeted the pair as he stepped into the office.

“Lord Pavus. I’m afraid I haven’t heard back about the Wintersend ball.”

Dorian laughed. “It’s quite alright, Ambassador. I’m here for the Inquisitor. Just needed to drop something off, if you’ll pardon my interruption.” Dorian didn’t care much for the glare Mahanon had given him but at least the man was looking at him. 

Dorian approached the pair and held out his hand to the elf. “This is for you, if you’ll accept.”

Lavellan looked between the ring and Dorian’s face, expression unreadable. “What are you playing at, Lord Pavus?”

Dorian sighed, suddenly wishing the good ambassador wasn’t here. “Just take the damn ring, Lavellan. I’ve spent more time hunched over a block of wood than I care to admit to make this.”

Mahanon gingerly picked up the ring, careful to avoid touching his fingers to Dorian’s hand.

“Lovely, thank you. Inquisitor, Lady Montilyet,” Dorian spun on his heel and walked out, hoping the Inquisitor had understood even just a little of what Dorian was attempting to say.

Dorian spent the next two weeks leaving pieces of jewelry for the elf in his quarters or the library in the basement, rarely giving them to him in person. It seemed to be working, at least a little. The Inquisitor wasn’t as quick to extract himself from the mage’s presence nor did he avoid eye contact. He was still only ‘Lord Pavus’ but… progress was made. He, Blackwall, and Varric were to go on the next trip to the Hinterlands. Which made the next step of Dorian’s Show-Mahanon-That-I-Want-Him plan easier than he would have hoped for.

Loranil had shown Dorian how to hunt and with Blackwall, he was almost sure that he would be able to find a creature worthy of the Inquisitor.

Too bad that creature happened to be a bear.

The Inquisitor and Varric had business to do in Redcliffe and after the whole evil magister taking over thing, Dorian wasn’t too keen on returning. And so the mage dragged Blackwall with him to make sure he didn’t die trying to kill a bear.

For the Inquisitor.

And his affections.

Fucking  _ feelings _ . 

This is ridiculous, he thought, stalking a bear with the Warden off in the distance, probably laughing his ass off. He couldn’t even use his magic, for fuck’s sake, or else he would ruin the pelt. Which, according to Loranil, was important. Just killing a beast wasn’t enough; one had to make sure every bit of it could be used.

Dorian took a deep breath and lifted the bow in his hands, pulling the arrow back. He let go, watched as the arrow flew towards the bear, and past it. Kaffas.

In the end, Blackwall didn’t need to intervene (much) and Dorian managed to kill the bear with a minimal use of magic. He was always better with a stave than a bow, anyhow. He did require, however, Blackwall’s help in dragging the bear back to camp. The scouts didn’t seem to want to be in the way of a crazy Tevinter mage carrying a dead bear and so their path to the Inquisitor was fairly clear. 

Said Inquisitor was deep in a conversation with Varric, both sitting in front of the fire, and neither looked up until Dorian and Blackwall dropped the bear down almost literally at his feet.

Mahanon looked from the bear to the mage, confusion clear on his face. “Dorian?”

Dorian shifted on his feet in part nervousness and giddiness. “I, uh, killed a bear. For you. Is it to your liking?”

Varric’s stifled laughter drew the attention of both men, reminding them that they weren’t alone.

Lavellan glared at Varric before dropping his head into his hands. “Why?”

Dorian paused and glanced back at Blackwall. He raised an eyebrow and motioned him to answer. 

“Firstly, I wanted to apologize how careless I was with my words. And I want to thank you for getting my amulet back, even after I was a complete ass. And I wanted to make my intentions clear, so I went to Loranil-”

“Wait, the Dalish elf from the Exalted Plains?”

“I- yes.” Dorian risked getting closer to Lavellan, stopping when the man looked up at him. “I wanted to court you, in a somewhat proper fashion, since words had failed me. You had accepted the ring, so I thought that, perhaps…”

The silence that fell as Dorian trailed off. Both Varric and Blackwall had wandered off, undoubtedly letting the scouts know that they should be left alone. 

“So that’s what all these gifts had been? Courting?”

And now the Inquisitor was standing, the space between them seemingly smaller. “Yes.”

“You hunted and killed a bear for me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dorian answered it anyway. “Yes. And I would do more for you, amatus. You need but to ask.”

Mahanon’s gaze was soft as he reached a hand to Dorian’s cheek. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Dorian simply leaned his face into the Inquisitor’s palm, savoring the attention and touch of the man he had been trying so hard to please, to fix his mistake. “I apologize for the words I so carelessly spoke in Val Royeaux and with Cole. I wanted to show you that you and whatever this is between us means something to me.” Dorian grew hesitant and pulled the elf’s hand from his face, holding in between his own. “If you, however, do not wish for more, then I’d rather you tell me now.”

“I want more, Dorian.” He pulled his hand from Dorian’s and cupped his face, drawing him near. “This is more.”

It was Dorian that closed the distance between them, hands grabbing Mahanon’s hips, gently kissing the elf.

One of Lavellan’s hands slid into Dorian’s hair, the other coming to rest against his neck, thumb brushing his cheek. Dorian opened his mouth just enough that Mahanon could ignore it for the invitation that it was. He didn’t and  _ Maker _ was it surreal having the Inquisitor’s tongue hesitantly moving against his own

Dorian eventually pulled away, resting his forehead against the elf’s. “Mahanon. As much as I am enjoying this, there’s still the matter of the bear.”

Mahanon laughed, a sound that the mage had missed more than he’d be willing to admit during their separation. “A pelt, I think. I hope you’re not squeamish because you  _ are _ helping me dress it.”

Dorian sighed, though it was in good nature. “Of course, Mahanon. Lead the way.” He’d have to thank Loranil when they got back to Skyhold. A fruit basket, maybe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Fen’harel ver na - Dread Wolf take you. Thank you, Project Elvhen.


End file.
